


Not How It Seems

by Huggle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crowley Being an Asshole, Demon Dean, Kidnapped Castiel, M/M, Possessive Dean, Protective Dean Winchester, Season/Series 10, Tied-Up Castiel, Tortured Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 07:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5366756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huggle/pseuds/Huggle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley thinks he almost has Dean turned.</p><p>Then he makes a stupid mistake regarding Castiel and finds out where Dean's loyalties lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not How It Seems

On some level Crowley knew he should be listening, but to be honest he officially couldn’t give a fuck.

That didn’t stop his minion from droning on and on and on and Crowley briefly considered just reaching out and burning him right there to put an end to his non-stop drivel. But he was going through aides at a ridiculous rate these days, and despite calling Hell home he’d never gotten used to the after stench.

It did tend to linger.

He only really paid attention to what was going on around him when he realised Dean had come into the bar. The older Winchester reached over and snagged a bottle of whiskey from the shelf then started for the door.

“You know, Dean, I might have a –“

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving them staring at it.

“-job for you later,” Crowley finished. “But it’ll keep until tomorrow.”

His minion – Malcolm? Maurice? – was staring down at him in a way that had Crowley rethinking his dislike for certain unpleasant smells. 

“What?” he said, and the lack of tone in his voice probably gave the other demon the notion it was ok to continue.

“I don’t know why you tolerate him, sir. His lack of respect. He’s workshy and ignorant, and he doesn’t behave towards you as he should.”

“He’s Dean Bloody Winchester. Do you expect him to stand up and salute when I come in the room? I wanted a hard-arse, someone with a bit of a backbone, not a bloody sycophant.” He stared meaningfully at M-whatever he was called.

“It just isn’t right. I’m not averse to taking him outside and having a word with him.”

Crowley sniggered. Then it got loose and he laughed until he almost cried. Almost. “Oh, that would be the most entertaining thing I’ve seen since you know who got shunted downstairs. I’d imagine the word would be ‘please’. As in ‘please take your boot off my neck’.”

Minion – he knew he’d be calling him that until he got fed up with him – sniffed and drew himself up, offense in every bristling inch. “Well, you are, of course, the king. You know best.”

After he was gone, Crowley stayed staring at the door. He certainly thought he had known best, taking advantage of a brilliant opportunity to not only have Dean Winchester as his best mate, but a knight of a hell who could actually do the job better than any of the demons bred for it, and also to fuck up Moose and that feathered bastard Castiel.

He just wasn’t sure where it had all started to go wrong.

::::

It was not really possible to get a demon drunk, but Crowley gave it his best shot. Or several, and he watched as Dean downed each one, tipped the glass over afterwards, then stared expectantly at the bartender until she set down several more.

“Family sucks,” he ventured finally, when a human would have been dead drunk at that point or perhaps just dead. “You know that, right?”

Crowley stared at his own drink, some fruity concoction he wasn’t quite convinced about, but it humoured Dean to see it sitting in front of him with a rainbow umbrella and a cherry on a cocktail stick.

“Believe me, I know.” But he wasn’t about to share his mummy issues with his new best friend. Anyway, this was about Dean, not him.

“I mean.... I told him to back off, to just let me go, but do you see him giving up? And that stupid angel’s just as bad. Man, you have no idea how glad I am to be rid of them. Like a weight off, you know? Now I don’t have to worry about them – they were high maintenance, Crowley, you got no idea.”

He actually did, having been party to some of their (mis)adventures over the preceding few years but he wasn’t about to point out that Dean had proved just as high maintenance as his brother and his angel friend. The point of this was to bring Dean around, completely, to him and thus far Dean was doing all the heavy lifting in that respect by himself.

“I finally get away from them, finally get to just do my own thing, but can they let it fucking go? No, not a chance. Man, I should have just ganked the two of them. That would have dealt with the problem pretty damn quick.”

Crowley stared at him. That was a new one – he’d seen Dean go stony silent or take some prick out back and fuck him up royally when Sam and Castiel were mentioned, but this was the first time he’d heard Dean actually talking about offing them himself.

Maybe there was finally dark at the end of the tunnel. 

Up until then, he’d preferred to keep quite a distance between the three of them. They were sneaky, Moose and Cas, and it was probably safer all round to not let them in the same room as Dean. Not until he could be sure there was no way around the mark, and no cunning angel magic to be worked to break it completely or to haul Dean back from his new, improved demonic status.

Castiel might be nearly out of juice – and of time – but until he was just an unpleasant memory, Crowley had no intention of taking unnecessary chances. Once the angel was gone, that would leave Sam, and humans didn’t live forever. Especially with a little help.

But if Dean was really that pissed off with his brother and his angelic crush, then maybe they should be worried about finding Dean instead of not finding him.

“What’s this one called again?” Crowley asked the bartender. “I actually think I’m starting to like it.”

Dean grinned.

::::

And so it kind of went swimmingly after that, until two of his lieutenants turned up properly, permanently dead twenty miles away and the last report they’d turned in was that they had apparently stumbled across an angel.

Crowley didn’t believe in coincidences, and knew of only one angel who had any business being anywhere near him or his newly minted knight of hell.

He sulked over it for a bit, not sure why life seemed to have it in for him, – he didn’t think being a demon was reason enough in and of itself – before he decided on a plan of action.

If he just ignored Castiel, then one of two things would happen. Castiel would track Dean down and try to take him back – and might just manage it because Crowley had seen some of the impossible things that angel had pulled off. Truth be told, the weaker he became, the stronger and feistier and more cunning he got. If there was a way to turn an angel into a demon, Crowley might have done it long before now but the only problem with Castiel was his total lack of a sense of humour.

And that stupid bloody trench coat.

The other thing that could happen once Castiel located Dean was that he’d probably phone Sam Winchester with Dean’s location. Castiel wasn’t stupid – if he tried to rescue Dean and failed, at least Sam would know where his brother was so he could try as well.

Neither outcome appealed all that much, but Castiel’s sudden appearance did present him with another opportunity. One that, he was sure, would endear him much more to Dean than listening to him mope over shots about how much it sucked to have family who actually cared about you.

::::

He’d expected it to be difficult. This was an angel he was dealing with, and not just any angel. Castiel, who just didn’t have the decency to spark out of existence or wither away at a more considerate rate than he was currently doing but had still managed to off two of his people.

So he’d gone in prepared, with a couple of bulky demons for muscle should it prove necessary – one had been a line-backer for some American Football team, and the other had been a professional wrestler so together they should have been able to deal with a sick angel.

He’d tracked Castiel to a motel, worked a little magic to find out which room – because the stubborn old cow behind the desk refused to divulge any information about her guests – and popped all three of them inside.

He made sure he was standing behind them so that when the fight started he wouldn’t be on the front lines.

But there was no fight. It did give him quite a start to find the angel lying unconscious in the middle of the room. His first thought was that someone had got in there first, and he had his demons do a quick recon of the area before they reported back that there was no other angel or demon around and hadn’t been as far as they could tell.

Crowley crouched down next to Castiel. So it was exhaustion, plain and simple. He took the warded cuffs out of his pocket, and locked them around Castiel’s wrists. Weak or not, when Castiel woke up Crowley wanted the security they provided.

He stepped back and had one of the demons pick Castiel up, and then he transported them all back to the old storage room out back of the motel off the bar. That was good enough for what he had in mind next.

::::

There was a phone ringing.

Castiel opened his eyes, confused, uncertain of his location. He remembered booking a motel room, intent on gathering his strength before he made a try for Dean. 

He didn’t remember anything after that.

Someone shoved the phone almost into his face and he flinched back. The movement hurt, had him wanting to curl in on himself until the pain settled.

“I think it’s for you,” a voice said, and though he couldn’t immediately place it – he still couldn’t quite concentrate on anything – the feeling of unease it provoked could not be a good sign.

The caller display read ‘Sam’. Instinctively, he reached for it, but something clinked coldly around his wrist, tugging against him.

The person holding the phone stepped back, then away a little further and Castiel could finally focus on him. “Crowley.”

“Long time no see, Castiel. You don’t look like you’ve been taking care of yourself.”

“I want to speak to Sam.”

“I’m sure you do. Ask him to come help you, or give him Dean’s location. Well, I’m afraid that just wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Castiel realised he was on his knees. There were manacles around his wrists, sigils etched into the metal, and the chains attached to a metal plate bolted into the floor. The give wasn’t much – he realised he wouldn’t even be able to stand.

“Where’s Dean?”

Crowley smirked at him. “I must say, Cas, your concern for your ex-human is quite endearing. I think you should probably give up on that, though. Dean isn’t interested. He’s with me, now. In fact, the last time I heard him mention you and Sam, he was bemoaning the fact he hadn’t done you both in when he had the chance.”

Castiel stared at him. The phone was still ringing, and he could imagine Sam wondering what was wrong, why he wasn’t answering. Desperate to speak to him so they could figure out how to find Dean, how to fix him.

A moment later, it stopped. 

Crowley pouted at the phone. “That’s the fourth time he’s tried in maybe fifteen minutes. I wonder what he thinks. That something’s happened to you? Which it has, let’s be honest. Of course, since he doesn’t know where you are there isn’t a lot he can do about it.”

He pocketed the phone and came back to where Cas knelt. “There isn’t a lot you can do about it either.”

::::

The main issue then was when to get Dean in to join the fun.

Too soon and Dean might just carry through on his threat and slip his knife deep inside poor Castiel and then that would be that. Too late and his knight might just slip his knife inside _him_ instead for making him miss all the good bits and leaving him a half dead angel to play with.

It was all about balance and timing.

Although thirty minutes in, Crowley was glad he’d brought some duct tape (with a few magical alterations; the angel’s face when Crowley had torn off a strip and shoved it roughly over his mouth had been a thing of delight) – Castiel had born his torment silently up until then but everyone cracked eventually and the demon working on the angel had very big hands.

He knew what to do with them, too, and Crowley found himself wincing in sympathy once or twice and even had to order things to be toned down a little. He did want the good stuff saved for when Dean walked in.

And since he’d sent Minion – whose name was in fact Maurice, so a lucky guess on his part – to summon Dean, they wouldn’t be long on getting started on that.

When the door opened, Castiel was a bloody, bruised mess. He was on his knees, arms braced on the floor, and he looked so pathetically small in front of the line-backer that Crowley could almost forget that was an angel and not just some poor human they’d snatched for a little rough play.

The demon fisted a hand in Castiel’s hair, and the other was wrapped around his throat. He hauled Castiel back against him, forced him to look at Crowley and at Dean, ran a hand down the angel’s face, his chest, started to go lower.

“Ah, Dean,” Crowley said, cheerfully. After all, this would be good. “You would not believe what I found lurking around and I thought – what would cheer up my best mate and get him out of his doldrums? I know! And so look what I’ve got for you.”

Dean stood next to him for a moment, frozen, staring at the scene in front of him.

Line-backer – Crowley supposed as a good boss he probably should make an effort to learn the names of his staff – yanked Castiel’s head back hard enough to have the angel crying out through the gag. He dragged his tongue up Castiel’s neck, across his jaw.

“Tastes hurt,” he crowed. “Tastes good.” 

Crowley grinned. Maybe Dean would like a taste? He turned to make the suggestion, but before he could say anything, Dean crossed the floor in a just a few purposeful steps, and he had the knife in his hand and Crowley was a little disappointed. He’d expected Dean to play with Castiel for a bit, further cementing his fall if you like, but perhaps he’d underestimated just how much Dean hated the angel.

He wondered what Dean would do if he ever managed to get a hold of Sam, right up until Dean slammed the knife straight through the demon’s throat.

Crowley was on his feet as the demon collapsed backwards, gagging, hands clutching at the wound as if that would somehow help.

Dean stood over them for a moment, dead demon, angel not far behind, and then turned back towards him.

At that point Crowley realised he’d clearly made quite the error of judgment.

“Dean, I’m sure we can talk this through.”

Dean’s eyes turned black. “I’ve only got a few things to say to you, Crowley.” He grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall so hard that Crowley swore something actually cracked. The knife was at his throat a moment later, the edge digging in.

“You ever go near my family again and I don’t care who it leaves to do your job, I will cut you up so fast you won’t have time to crawl out of that meatsuit. I guess I gotta prove my point.”

Crowley screamed as the knife plunged into his thigh, twisting around, gouging a hole in him that felt like he could stuff his own fist in it. Dean let him go, and he couldn’t stand – he slumped down against the wall, but not daring to take his eyes off what he thought had been _his_ Winchester. 

He’d got that one very wrong.

Dean slipped the knife back in the sheath Crowley had obtained for it, for him, and went back to the angel.

Castiel had managed to get to his knees again, and he flinched when Dean came to crouch down in front of him. 

“It’s ok,” Dean promised, quietly. His fingers caught an edge of the duct tape, and again Cas flinched. Dean had to put a hand against the back of his neck to hold him still until he could ease the tape off.

“Dean,” Castiel gasped, and Crowley heard the fear there, and a little bit of hope.

“I’m telling you, it’s ok.”

Dean undid the manacles around Castiel’s wrists, and grabbed the angel’s arms, helping him to his feet. Castiel was too injured to stay standing for long. Crowley watched as Dean picked up him, hugged him to his chest and started to the door.

Despite himself, Crowley tried to edge away as Dean approached but it was a little pointless. He didn’t like losing, but he didn’t like being dead either, so he surrendered and stayed silent as Dean turned to get the angel through the door.

“I meant what I said, Crowley. And one of these days, I’ll make you pay for every mark on him.”

Then he was gone and Crowley wondered how he’d managed to fuck this one up so badly and who exactly he would take it out on.

He snapped his fingers and Maurice appeared, looking down on him with an irritating mix of pity and disdain.

“Go on, say it,” Crowley snapped.

“Say what, sire?”

“I told you so.” He hoped Maurice hadn’t suddenly developed a sense of self preservation, because that would be very disappointing.

“Well,” Maurice started.

Crowley grinned. Close enough.

::::

Dean felt it when Crowley went, taking what was left of his little entourage away with him. He hadn’t been worried about the bastard trying anything – Crowley knew when he’d lost a battle and he knew when to take to his heels.

One of these days, Dean would bump into him again and he knew what he was going to do then.

But right now, all that mattered was the angel in his arms.

He set Castiel down on the bed, and grabbed a wet cloth from the bathroom. It didn’t take much to get Castiel out of his shirt – there was hardly anything left of it – but the pants were mostly whole. Dean didn’t like the idea of moving Castiel enough to slip them off so in the end he just tore them down both sides and got rid of them that way.

Castiel might have been in pain, but he never stopped watching him. Warily, like at any minute he expected Dean to take up where Crowley’s demon had left off.

Dean didn’t meet that stare as he wiped the blood off Castiel’s body. He managed to avoid his eyes even when he was cleaning up Castiel’s face, and it helped – in a perverse fashion – that he could focus on the bruises rising under the angel’s skin.

He wondered how long Crowley had been playing with Cas, while Dean tried and failed again to drink himself unconscious.

“You can heal yourself, right?”

Castiel started to shake his head and then gave a pain filled gasp. “We tried to find you. We have been…trying to find you.”

“Cas,” Dean started, but he never could shut Castiel up.

“We’ll find a way to help you, Dean. You have to trust us.”

“Can you heal?” He held Castiel’s face in his hands, careful not to hurt him anymore than he was already, but making it clear he wanted an answer. Even if he really knew it already since Castiel looked ready to just check out right there in front of him.

“No,” Cas managed. “This isn’t my Grace, Dean. It’s barely keeping me alive. Functioning. I’ll need to heal as a human would.”

Dean looked away. Yes, he’d told Sam – and by extension, he supposed, Cas – to leave him be. He’d wanted that, at the time. There was no room for them in his new life. But he realised now he hadn’t wanted them around him because he wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t pose them some horrific threat.

The anger in him – it was wild and merciless and volatile and at any given moment he felt like he didn’t have reins for it.

But he’d rescued Cas from Crowley. There had never been any other choice, any other consideration. Then he realised that no matter what he’d told Crowley, he could never hurt his family. The anger he couldn’t hold on to – it hadn’t come from the mark. It hadn’t been stuffed into him, alive and overwhelming and for the sole purpose of turning him.

It had been there all along, so yes he could control it. He and it were old friends and they knew how to get along.

The demon thing was something else, but Dean realised he could keep a handle on that. The anger helped – he was too pissed at Crowley, at the world, to give it any ground. And the opportunity it offered him….

How many times had he had to watch Sam, or Castiel, get hurt because being a good fighter or a great shot or knowing some Latin just wasn’t enough to keep them safe?

But now…he’d just offed a demon twice his size and sent the king of hell scurrying into retreat. 

“I don’t need help,” he said, even though he knew it would be pointless trying to convince his friend. His angel. 

“You would never have chosen this, Dean.”

“You know what? You’re right. Just like Sam wouldn’t have chosen to get amped on demon blood but he did and he saved both of us from Alastair because of it. Just like you wouldn’t have chosen to get upgraded but it stopped Raphael from burning the world.”

“And then Sam fell into the pit,” Castiel snapped. “And I…I…..” He looked away, shaking, and Dean felt something inside himself give.

“We’ve all screwed up, Cas. Sometimes all you have are shitty options and you have to just pick what seems the best one at the time. You don’t know how things are going to turn out. But I know if I wasn’t what I am now, I’d have had to stand there and watch that guy tear you apart. I can’t be sorry for that not happening.”

He couldn’t help himself then; he crawled onto the bed, and pulled Castiel up and into his arms. The angel sagged against him, his breathing hard and heavy.

Fuck, he was in bad shape.

Dean looked around the motel room. It wasn’t too bad compared to the places he’d stayed before, when he was on the road with Sam, but it was no place to take care of Cas. And both of them belonged with Sam anyway, Sam who was probably driving around frantic because now he had a missing brother and a missing best friend to find.

Dammit.

Dean reached over to the bedside table and snatched up his phone. He hit Sam’s number and listened to it ringing.

When Sam answered, he sounded afraid. As if he didn’t dare hope at who would be ringing him from his brother’s phone.

“Dean?”

Dean smiled. “Hey, Sam. You’ll never guess who I ran into.”

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt @ SPN Kink Meme:
> 
>  
> 
> _Dean runs off with Crowley, wants no ties to his old life. Crowley is clever enough to quickly see that if he wants to survive and get along with Dean, he'd better accept that Dean is the one running the show, not him, so he lets Dean take the lead and tries to find ways to please Dean, to keep on his good side._
> 
>  
> 
> _When Cas finds where they're hiding out, Crowley thinks he's found a way. Demon!Dean talks so much trash about Sam and Cas all the time, making such a big deal about how happy he is to be rid of them and everything that connected him to his humanity - Crowley thinks Dean will be thrilled with him if he makes sure Cas never makes it back to Sam with their location, is never able to try to "save" Dean again._
> 
>  
> 
> _He beats the crap out of a weakened, fading-grace!Cas, possibly tortures him, keeps him chained up where he can't get away, can't call Sam for help. And then he brings Dean there to show him what he's done, expecting Dean to be happy with what he's done, to maybe want to take a swing or two at Cas himself._
> 
>  
> 
> _Demon!Dean is... less than pleased._
> 
>  
> 
> _I want ruthless, scary, cold, powerful demon!Dean putting the fear of Dean Winchester into Crowley for what he's done to Cas, punishing him for hurting his angel, and then turning around and being all softness and gentle reassurances as he takes Cas down from the chains he's bound with and carefully puts him back together._
> 
>  
> 
> _Please put a lot of focus on the contrast between Dean's brutality with Crowley, and his tenderness with Cas._


End file.
